Night Owl
by Sleepy Lotus
Summary: Whilst coping with changes in Jane's social life that leave Daria feeling even more alone, the brain finds herself unexpectedly connecting with her favorite brooding musician. DariaTrent.
1. Chapter 1

-1**Night Owl**

_**A/N: So I'm thinking this is set sometime amidst Jane's Addition (the episode in which Tom first comes into the picture, and daria and Jane are working on the multimedia project for mr. O'neil's class), though of course there will be canon bending liberties taken, because that's what fan fiction is all about... And I suppose I'm pretending the episode "Pierce Me" isn't quite so far in the past...don't make fun of me for the "funky doodle"...it was really the name of the store, I swear. **_

**Chapter 1**

_How the hell did this happen? _mused Daria, experiencing a strange emotional medley of awkward confusion, isolation and disdain. Under the cover of shadows in the dimmed room, she surveyed the teenagers around her, as they engaged in their popularity games, pranks, power plays, and general inane conversation...no matter what high school, state, or for that matter, country, teenagers are the same the world over. And this was just like high school, only worse. Oh, so much worse.

The only familiarity of the evening's festivities was the loud blare of Mystic Spiral's latest, pumping through the stacked speakers and shaking the walls. In a way she was grateful for that one, oh so very loud, security. Perhaps she'd been abandoned, but at least the band was in sight on stage. Not for the first, nor the last time of the night, Daria thought, _Jane, I'm going to kill you. _

It all started with an invitation, of which to Daria's credit, she'd attempted to evade. Well...in the beginning, anyways. Jane's enthusiastic _"Tom invited me to a party across town, want to come with?" _didn't exactly inspire Daria to dance in a fit of glee. As one can well imagine, her reply came frigid as artic ice, a most decided and determined, "_No way in hell." _

Jane's new relationship with this young Tom rankled Daria, even frightened her, in a way. She could feel her best friend pulling away from her, little by little, seduced by the clutches of someone exciting and new. Though Daria rarely received an invitation to accompany Jane to pizza, movies, watch Sick Sad World, or any other forms of mischief they had once shared so contentedly, the idea of playing third wheel at a party still ranked less than enticing.

Jane well knew that only one thing had a snowball's chance in said hell, of convincing her. Stalwart as Daria stood in her antisocial convictions, there was a certain musician for whom Daria was known to do the most outlandish things. The most cutting sarcasm could be reduced to a plain _yeah _in his presence, and her usually bored façade had once burned fiery red with a nervous rash for fear of making a fool of herself in front of him. She had even allowed a man named Axl to poke a hole in her body at this crush's suggestion. Jane Lane had learned to never underestimate the lengths Daria would bound for her brother, and so it was not without calculation she'd hailed, _"Hey, Trent!" _as he walked in the kitchen.

_"Hey guys. You talking about the party?"_

Before Daria could express her true feelings on the matter, Jane quickly answered _"You mean the party you and Spiral have a gig at this weekend? Why yes, yes we were."_

Raising a sharply arched eyebrow at Jane's duplicitous tone, the corner of Trent's mouth ticked with a smirk. _"So are you guys coming? I know I could use the moral support, at a high school party. But a gig's a gig, right Daria?"_

As his attention turned to her, Daria swallowed, hard. _"Ah...yes, yes it is." _Jane noticed, but deflected the rays of death her best friend beamed her way with a scarlet smile. _"I guess we're in."_

_"Cool," _said Trent, smirk widening to a true smile. _"You guys can ride with us, if you want. You might not be in the best shape to drive, come end of the evening."_

Daria's eyes widened to a full bloom of nervous surprise. Before she could express her reservations, Jane said, _"Thanks Trent. I think we'll take you up on that."_

Ah, but finagling Daria into going was not the end. Indeed, it was only the beginning. Though it was not complete pretense under which Jane dragged Daria to Dega street, for Jane too wanted something new to wear, Daria knew her parochial school skirt and green jacket were being threatened with displacement. "_I don't want to dress up, Jane. In fact, I _**don't** _dress up. Period."_

Jane whisked aside the protest easily with a wave of her hand, sending it to fly into oblivion. The poor thing never stood a chance. _"We don't have to dress _**up**__" insisted Jane. _"We should just dress **differently**. Come on, aside from us, I don't think there will even be any Lawndale students there. Who will know? Even, consider it a disguise...It'll be fun."_

With a narrowing of eyes, Daria sighed. Resignation? Acquiescence? Perhaps. But maybe, just _maybe, _it was a well masked curiosity. _"Maybe." _she defended. "_If I see something I like."_

It was staring into the window display of the Funky Doodle clothing store, that just that unexpected phenomenon occurred. Not but a month ago, she and Trent had stood in that very same place, on a mission to find Jane a birthday present. That same black dress he'd casually pointed at, saying _You'd look good in that, _inspiring a tingle of excitement in her tummy and a rosy blush on her cheeks, still hung in the window. Though she tried to hide her interest, Jane honed in like a missile, mercilessly accurate. _"You like that, don't you, Morgandorffer. Come on, try it on." _Giving no time for protest, Jane grabbed her arm, dragging her into the store.

And so her fate was sealed. Daria found herself dressing for the party at Jane's house. She consoled herself that Trent rarely remembered anything, much less a dress he saw in a window more than a month ago...she should be in the clear.

When the girls walked out to the Tank to pile in with the rest of the equipment, Trent's eyes visibly widened at the sight approaching him. Though Jane wasn't much of one to flaunt the goods genetics had given her, it was always impossible to miss the fact that she was a pretty girl. Blood red lipstick doesn't let one shrink quietly into the background, and three ear piercings testify to at least a little awareness of self-image. So the sight of her in a crimson red off the shoulder top, black pinstripe pants, and boots didn't necessarily seem so out of left field.

However, Daria's unexpected ensemble most decidedly _did _make him feel like _something _had hit him in the head from out of nowhere. It wasn't that the black dress was revealing...it covered everything, from only a few inch hem above the knee, to a neckline that didn't scoop invasively low, and three-quarter length sleeves. It simply made it utterly impossible to miss the fact that Daria actually had a figure uncannily similar to Quinn's, a fact that the loose green jacket and baggy black skirt usually concealed to perfection. Black vertical-striped hose came up past her knee, and a hint of lace peeked out from the top band here and there as she walked. Only the boots remained from her usual ensemble, yet in context even those seemed strikingly new.

_"Hey guys," _said Jane, watching them load up the heavy equipment.

_"Hey Janey_," greeted Trent. With a half-cocked smile, he turned to Daria. _"I __**told**__ you you'd look hot in that."_

Daria thanked Jehovah, Allah, Buddha, Rama, and any other deity that would care to lend an ear for the cover of darkness. A blush with a vengeance burned from her cheeks to her ears, and she hoped she didn't glow in the dark. _"Erm...thanks, Trent."_ Not only could she hardly believe he remembered the garment, but the fact that the adjective had transformed from good to _hot _certainly did not escape her burning cheeks, or the butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach.

Huddled on the crate in the back of the tank, sandwiched in by band equipment and two other members of Mystic Spiral, Jane whispered conspiratorially to her best friend, _"I was not aware you had a history with this dress, Morgandorffer."_

_"Um...can't argue with good taste?" _Daria whispered back, effectively mortified.

A sly smile spread on Jane's painted lips. _"Certainly not."_

At the present moment, Daria found herself sitting on the couch, watching the crowd. She crossed her legs and huddled into the corner, hoping to remain unnoticed. Jane had left to get drinks, yet another element of the current situation Daria didn't exactly feel comfortable with, though based on the extended duration of her absence, Daria began to suspect her friend had found Tom. Had found Tom, and perhaps _accidentally _fell into the laundry closet with him...

"Hey, amiga!" startled Daria out of her brown study. How anyone could withdraw into themselves in this rowdy crowd and loud music was beyond Jane, but Daria proved capable of many wonders.

"Hey." Jane plopped down on the couch, and handed Daria a red plastic cup. "What's this?" Daria asked suspiciously, peering inside. The contents were red and smelled of a sugar content that could render a horse comatose.

"They call it Jungle Juice." Jane took a hearty sip, fearless, it seemed. "Try some."

"Does it have alcohol in it?" Daria still regarded the drink warily, as though something unpleasant could burst forth from the juicy depths and latch with hungry teeth upon her nose at any moment.

"Oh, probably, though it can't be much. Live a little, the guys are here to take care of us."

Though Jane undoubtedly referred to the band, Daria couldn't help but think _That's what I'm afraid of. _Two of which stood across the room, and had been looking in her direction for quite some time. Though perhaps this was mostly a Fielding party, they were a rare few who seemed to embody the prep aesthetic. Khakis, collared shirts under t-shirts, and picture perfect hair-parts. "I think those guys are checking us out," whispered Jane, with something of a wicked smile. It was a sign for caution, Daria had learned. "Let's go talk to them."

"But you just brought me this lovely humming bird juice. I couldn't possibly imbibe and insult at the same time."

Jane grabbed Daria's hand, pulling her up. "No need to mix business and pleasure. Just come with, I'll do the talking."

"But aren't you meeting Tom here?"

"Yeah, but they don't know that. Besides, Daria, these aren't your run of the mill Lawndale gentlemen. They're Fielding Prep Academy's finest...maybe you can strike up a conversation about Nietzsche or something."

Reluctantly, Daria allowed herself to be dragged. It seemed to be a theme for the night, why stop at just showing up? She absently listened to Jane chat up the boys, her gaze drifting from them, to around the room, up to the stage where Trent sang into the microphone. "So what's your name?" asked one of the boys, interrupting her detached foray into her own mind once again. If she truly wanted it to be a first line of defense, she needed to work on not being interrupted so easily.

"Daria," she answered, unenthused.

"I'm Gary, this is Robert."

"Nice to meet you." By the looks in their eyes, they sensed her social nicety was less than sincere. Their eyes met, questioning, evaluating. True, these were no complacent cattle of the Lawndale lot, but perhaps a higher farm animal of Fielding. There was something sharp to Gary's blue gaze that sparked a twinge of interest in Daria, even as it inspired her all too familiar voice of caution. But caution of what? Human contact? Why did it have to be so difficult for her to connect with people? To exchange pleasant banter, to fill a silence with light words of companionship? Always, she had been this way. An outcast. A social dunce.

Even whilst she asked herself, annoyed with herself, she knew the answer: because she was a thinker. Daria could not pass a single moment without evaluating her situation, and the people around her. She could not fill the silence with casual banter, because much more perplexing matters were always on her mind. And she could not fill the silence with what was on her mind, because she did not care to be judged by those who inevitably would not or could not understand her. Yet, who could ever understand her, if she never bolstered the courage to open up?

A paradox, Daria? Oh, entirely, but a cross she bore almost willingly.

Before the conversation could reach new heights of awkward, a set of arms wrapped around Jane's waist, and an all-too-familiar head appeared upon her shoulder. "Hey, babe," said Jane, greeting Tom with a wet smooch.

"I see you've met Robert and Gary."

"Briefly."

"Can I get you a drink?"

Draining the last of her cup, Jane agreed, "Yes."

And like smoke, the couple disappeared into the crowd, migrating towards the makeshift bar. Funny, thought Daria sadly, how it's possible to be in such a crowd of people and feel so very alone. Almost to herself, she sighed, "Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule."

Gary raised a blond eyebrow, something close to surprise written across his features. "Nietzsche, eh? Are you sure you go to public school?" he asked, with a note in his voice just close enough to condescension to raise Daria's hackles.

"I've been in independent study since kindergarten."

"I'll bet."

On reflex, Daria's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Gary shrugged unapologetically, ice blue eyes boring into her. "I just know your type, is all. You're an artsy snob, smart, and convinced you're infinitely better than those around you. You dress in black to put up a wall, keep people at a distance, and whine about your deep-seated inner angst, just to hide the fact that you're such a loser, and so very alone."

Daria could not have been more surprised, had Gary reached out and backhanded her across the face. However, like a true champ, she kept up her stoic façade, even if it felt as though something small had broken inside once again. "How can I resist isolation, when evidence repeatedly proves people are inevitably not worth my time?"

She did not savor the victory of shock or anger written across Gary's face, ducking away into the crowd, and escaping out a side door to the cool darkness outside. Once the door slid closed, one could barely hear the bedlam from within. Resignedly, Daria walked down a cobbled path, taking a seat on a bench overlooking a landscaped pond in the backyard. A stand of woods stretched out behind the house, dark and tall, outlined in silver moonlight.

Absently, she sipped from the half full red cup she clasped in one hand. She couldn't taste the alcohol, but it was undoubtedly present. It couldn't just be her dress keeping her that warm. Even still, she continued to nip, until the cup was empty and a warm, heavy feeling had settled over her limbs, and a fog spread before her eyes and through her head. _So this is drunk?_ she questioned. No, it couldn't be. Perhaps buzzed. Though in a way she felt more relaxed, her altercation with Gary still loomed fresh in her mind. It preoccupied her to a point where she did not notice the thrum of Spiral's speakers had ceased from within the house, nor did she register the sound of the sliding glass door opening and closing. "Are you ok, Daria?" asked a familiar voice to the side of her.

Daria did not look up at Trent, continuing to study the reflections of moonlight on the man-made body of water before her. That could certainly prove disastrous...what if he noticed the annoying dampness that plagued her eyes, that had not quite built up enough volume to drip down? "Do you think I'm a snob, Trent?" she asked quietly. The question rolled off of her lips alarmingly easily. Was this ease the result of the alcohol too? Or was Trent simply the friend she trusted most, at that moment?

"Is that what that jerk told you?" he inquired back, taking a seat beside her on the bench.

"You heard that?"

"No, but I saw it. Vantage point from the stage, and all."

"Well, essentially, he called me a snobby brainy coward who hides behind a wall of black clothing to keep people away, whilst I contemplate my sorry little life alone. Had I been more composed, I would have informed him my usual armor is actually drab green."

A ghost of a smile played over Trent's lips as Daria stole a glance over. He too seemed to be entranced by the quicksilver waters. "We all have armor, Daria," he said, and much to her surprise, drew a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. The source of that deep chest cough suddenly became apparent. "Yours is just thicker than most. It doesn't make you a snob."

"And what about a coward?"

Trent lit up, inhaling deeply, and expelling the gray fumes through his nose. Enough time passed that Daria felt certain he did not intend to answer her question, when finally he said point blank, "Maybe you're a bit of a coward." Daria flinched inwardly. Did she deserve that? Perhaps, if it was the truth. Well, it's the truth, isn't it, Morgandorffer? "But," continued Trent. "You're also one of the bravest girls I know."

Daria started, turning to look at Trent. "What?"

A warm smile curled Trent's lips, and he took another drag. "Maybe you hide from people, Daria, but then again, the world hasn't given you much of a reason not to. Most people are vicious, stupid, self absorbed, predatory... But you're past that. There are big questions afoot, that you are brave enough to consider. You have the courage to see past the materialism and popularity games that dominate the average highschooler's thoughts, to dare look at a bigger picture. I admire that about you."

Trent stretched out a hand, offering the cigarette to a seemingly shell shocked Daria. Had he really just paid her the grandest compliment of her short lifetime? "Want to try? It's more fun while you're drinking."

Eyebrows raised, Daria took the slender roll of tobacco from between his fingers. "What do I do?"

"Just inhale. Gasp, like someone surprised you." Well, she would have no trouble doing that, at that moment. She only vaguely dwelled upon the thought that Trent's mouth had just been upon the exact same place of the cigarette she placed between her lips, before doing as instructed. The surprise of the burn of the smoke in her chest caused her to cough a little, even while she rode the high of the nicotine in her system.

"You know," she said, handing back the cig, "This isn't the best habit for an aspiring vocalist. It may give the image of a rebel slapping death in the face, but the tobacco corporations are laughing all the way to the bank."

Trent laughed, and covered his cough with a fist. "See what I mean? You see through it all. If I'd had your insight at your age, I wouldn't have _this _problem," he chuckled, taking another drag.

They sat in silence, appreciating the still of the night, the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves. "But you know, Daria," said Trent, continuing on their earlier thread, "If you block everyone out forever, then you're going to miss some really cool people along the way. People who might change your life. The way you see things. The way you live. If you don't give people a chance, then you'll never get to see what they're hiding behind their _own _masks. We're all so afraid, of each other."

"As well we should be. Because even when you've let someone in, and you think you mean something to them, they ditch you for someone new and more interesting. Who just happens to have a penis." Usually even mentioning such a word in front of Trent would set Daria a blushin', but the alcohol had lowered her inhibitions just enough to actually feel comfortable with him. _Great_ thought Daria. _If I ever hope to really interact with the opposite sex, it turns out I just have to become a lush._

"I guess you're referring to Jane and Tom," said Trent, suppressing a chuckle. Perhaps the way she worded it was cuttingly funny as usual, but Trent knew the sarcasm masked a much more serious problem. He knew Daria was hurting, deep down. Maybe he knew even better than she did.

"Janey still loves you, Daria," he assured her. "She just wants...a different kind of companionship, right now. Unless you swing that way, I don't think you can scratch her itch." Daria's eyes went wide at the suggestion, causing Trent's small smile to widen.

"You don't think Tom's...scratching her itch, do you?"

Trent held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Whoa, Daria. She's my sister. Don't want to think about it."

"I know...sorry. It's just..." Daria released a heavy sigh. "Tom seems like a good guy, I guess. Of course I want Jane to be happy. But along with the resentment of being left alone, I also can't help but worry about her too." In a spot on imitation of Ms. Barch, she screeched, "You men are always only thinking about one thing!"

Laughing, Daria slouched against the bench, turning to look at Trent. Amusement glittered in his dark eyes. "That may be true," he admitted shamelessly. "But we're better at multitasking than we get credit for. Where Tom is of course interested in Jane in a more...intimate way, I'm sure he also respects her for her mind, and artistic abilities. It is possible, you know," he chided, the corner of his mouth pulled back in a mischievous smile that made Daria's heart ache, even if just a little.

"Oh is it?" she taunted back, crossing her arms and legs.

Had Daria been anyone else, Trent would have sworn she flashed the lace tops of her stockings just to torment him. Monique would have. Just about any girl with any idea of how very attractive male eyes found her, would have. Valiantly, he kept eyes to her face. "Of course it is. For instance, I'm sitting here with you, having what may be the most interesting conversation of my year. I totally respect you, but I'm also very aware of...well, _you_. It's not degrading or anything. I'm not looking at you as a pretty object, something I would like to own, or use for a night and throw away. It's like a compliment. Appreciating the whole package, and all."

A small smile played over Daria's lips, even as she blushed a little. "True, it doesn't have to be degrading. It's...nice, to be appreciated." Not to mention unsettling. Daria had yet to become accustomed to her physical side being considered as formidable as her mental. "But you have to admit, some males will feign an appreciation for a girl's mind and personality to get at the physical benefits of a relationship."

"Sure, some will. Girls do it too. I'm in a band, Daria. I _know_."

Daria laughed, and Trent found the sound brought a smile to his lips. Their eyes met, and something like a jolt of electricity coursed through his spinal column, starting at the base and fanning throughout his limbs, all the way to his fingertips. It was the kind of moment that had she been anyone else, he probably would have reached out, slid fingers along her jaw and drawn her into a kiss. But she wasn't just anyone. She was _Daria_.

Trent knew that Daria was discovering new things about herself, this very night. Perhaps her mind had matured decades past her peers, but there were still areas that fell to gray for her. Particularly, any type of social interaction. Frankly, he was amazed she would speak so candidly with him that night, and suspected the Jungle Juice must be aiding in the breach of carefully constructed walls.

She was so afraid of people judging her, hurting her, even as she loathed them. After assuring her that men can respect a woman for her mental merits without dwelling on the sexual, kissing her probably wasn't the best idea. She would analyze it over and over in her head. She would probably conclude he'd only just begun to notice her after she donned that breathtaking black dress, and she might conclude he'd lied to her. Used her. She'd never trust him again. The thought churned a sick feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach.

A long, lonesome sound interrupted their thoughts, floating down from the tops of the trees. It was as chilling as it was awesome, and Daria found goosebumps marching across her arms as she looked up into the dark forms of the high branches. She could not see the owl, but evidence testified to it's presence nearby. She could count the times on one hand in her suburban life, when her ears had been graced by the call of such a royal creature of the woods.

"I wish we could see it," sighed Trent, also scanning the trees, longing for a glimpse of the nocturnal predator. "Something about that sound, hits me so deep inside." He too sported fresh gooseflesh across thin arms.

"Owls have been viewed in a variety of different ways, in cultures world wide," mused Daria. "They have been considered harbingers of death, bad luck, and the vehicle for demons. But they have also been known as symbols of wisdom, and prosperity. They were the companions of goddesses. Lakshmi. Athena. But perhaps none described the owl's relation to man's psyche better than Thoreau in Walden. He basically said that the call of the owl reflects something so utterly primal in the forest, that the animal nature within we repress and ignore cannot help but ache in response to it. The _unsatisfied thoughts which all have_."

Perhaps it was the alcohol loosening her tongue, or perhaps it was simply that Daria perceived through the corner of her eye she commanded Trent's attention, but she happily rambled on with her analysis, eyes turned up to the stars. "We are now an animal so pathetic, so mal-adapted to survive in nature, to our own fault, that we have created a whole new artificial world, for our own convenience. The fear of the owl expresses man's fear of himself, and his internal longing to be closer to the animal he once was. Man fears nature, and the inevitability of death so greatly, that we chose to feign immortality. To age is a sin. We outright deny our very nature, and it takes artists to rediscover this primal vein. It takes people like us to see through the smokescreen modern man has created for himself, and pull forth something beautiful, something true. Musicians, painters, writers...and the owl, all remind us of our fears, our hopes, and our illusions."

Daria did indeed command all of Trent's attention. He studied the woman beside him, carefully absorbing every detail. She was rather owlish herself, in those large round glasses. The wind wisped between them, stirring her soft brown hair as she gazed up at the night sky, lips curled in that heart wrenchingly beautiful mona-lisa smile. Someday soon, she would grow into herself. And then everyone would see what he was seeing, at that very moment.

"What?" she dared ask softly, suddenly quite conscious of his stare fixated upon her.

"Just thinking."

"Thinking what?"

"About how beautiful you are. Once you get out of high school, away from all the fuckers trying to take away your greatness for their own selfish agendas, you're going to fly higher than the rest of us can even see. They'll still be stuck here in Lawndale, with a steady job and three bratty kids, sitting on their fat asses watching mindless television...but not you, Daria. Not you."

Daria's eyebrows raised with surprise. "Um...thanks, Trent."

At that moment the screen door slid open, and Jesse stuck his head out. "Hey man. It's time for the second set."

Trent pushed to his feet. "You coming?"

In response, Daria shook her head. "I'm going to stay here a little longer. Commune with the owls."

"Alright." Ducking down, Trent pressed a gentle peck to her cheek. "See you soon, Daria."

Reveling in the warm and fuzzy feeling spreading through her tummy, Daria watched Trent retreat on that long-legged gait. What just happened? Something good, or at least, something new, she thought. She just hoped she could remember it all, come morning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: **

"_I'm having trouble getting motivated," _had admitted Trent, responding to Daria's inquiry of how the thirty second sound clip was coming, for she and Jane's multimedia project. _"Or inspired. Whichever."_

_"Oh." _She'd loathed the thought of sounding like "the man", but a nervous little tingling burned the tips of her toes. _"Well...the project's due next week, so, maybe soon?"_

Trent bobbed his head in agreement, sliding a guitar case into the back of the tank. The party had ended, and the band packed up their gear, and under-aged drinkers. Tom was spending the night at the party house, and Jane already sat on her crate, half asnooze against the wall. _"Tell you what, Daria," _said Trent, grunting as he and Jesse lifted a half-stack. _"Why don't you come over tomorrow, and we can work on it together. It would help me, to have someone..."_

_"Looming over you?"_ sighed Daria.

Raising an eyebrow, Trent laugh-coughed. _"Nah...consider yourself like...a producer. Giving direction to the recording." _

And so the next day Daria found herself at the Lane household, once again clad in her normal comfy duds. Though she'd left Jane a note about the study date, her best friend was no where to be found Saturday evening. Of course, why would Daria expect her to be, at this point, with so many other amusements at her disposal? The thought of spending more time alone with Trent left a confusing medley of emotions to mix in her mind, ranging from anticipation to terror of making a fool of herself.

Daria knocked softly on Trent's door, hoping he wasn't asleep. "Yo, it's open," came his invitation. She entered the room, to find Trent sitting on his bed, acoustic slung over his knee. The keyboard he'd bought sat on the floor, hooked up the computer that had migrated from Jane's room to his.

"Jane's out with Tom," said Trent in answer to a silent question. "So I guess it's just us. Not so bad, right?"

"Um...yeah. Not so bad," Daria agreed sheepishly. "Did she even read my note?"

"Yeah, but she said something about three cooks in a kitchen on her way out...I guess she thought too many of us would spoil the soup?"

"And here I thought we were just composing music..." sighed Daria, taking a seat next to Trent on the bed. As he glanced over, he found her to seemingly be _very _interested in the toes of her boots.

"It's ok, Daria," he tried to console her. "This can't last forever. You know how Jane is. She'll lose interest in Tom in no time."

"But what if she doesn't? I guess I just don't get it. What can be so great about a guy, that you would abandon your best friend to spend time with him?"

For a moment Trent thought this was just another quip born of Daria's legendary sarcasm, until he realized she truly didn't understand. She didn't know what it was like to be overcome with a desire to be near someone, or intoxicated by the fact that they want to be near you too. It was probably mostly the reciprocation that escaped her...she'd never had a boyfriend before.

"I don't know how to explain it to you," admitted Trent. "It's an intense feeling, that can't be summed up by words."

"It's not love," Daria grumbled, nudging an errant dust bunny with her boot.

"Probably not," Trent agreed. "It almost feels better than love, in a way. Love comes with time, and trust...but nothing can duplicate the euphoria of those first few months." Lord knows he and Monique had tried, over and over again, before realizing it was time to call it quits.

Daria could feel Trent's dark eyes upon her, and the self-consciousness she usually always felt while around him suddenly caught up to her in a flourish. Refusing to look his way, she said quietly, "It's that good, huh?"

Trent gave a soft chuckle in response. "Daria, have you ever kissed a guy?"

Her wide eyed expression of embarrassed horror could have served as an answer in itself, but still, Daria answered, "Uh...no." As though she didn't already feel like the biggest square in the land, that damned blush made it's predicted entrance, warming her cheeks.

Turning back to his guitar, Trent strummed a G. "It's ok, it doesn't make you un-cool." he tried to assure her. "Just, I don't know. Try to cut Janey some slack. You'll realize what she's going through sometime. Until then, I'm sure things will work themselves out."

He hoped, anyways. Of course, there was nothing to guarantee that they would. If both continued to be so stubborn, a beautiful friendship could slip through the girl's fingers, before they even realized it.

**OOOOOOOOOOO**

As the sun sank in the sky, the pair played with ideas for the sound clip, Trent with his guitar, and Daria seated on the floor before the keyboard. Daria discovered she had a certain aptitude for picking out interesting melodies on the keys. It was as the heavily slanted shadows of dusk fell across the walls that one of Daria's little ditties caught Trent's ear. "That's cool, Daria," he said, tapping his foot and bobbing his head.

When she paused with surprise at his praise, turning back to look at him, Trent shook his head. "Don't stop, don't lose it. Keep playing."

Reaching over to the computer, Trent flipped on the record function of the composing software he'd purchased just for this occasion. Staring up at Trent as though he'd grown a third head, Daria obeyed, small hand continuing with the tune she'd discovered. It was a low and mournful beat, reflective of her mood at the moment. Towering over her sitting form, Trent contemplated the keyboard intensely, watching her hands, and seeming to envision what could come next in counterpoint to the bass line. She could see the notes unfolding behind his eyes, playing through his head.

Daria expected him to request her to move at any moment, and let him take over. Let the musician do his work, and what not. What she did not expect was Trent to crouch down beside her, reaching long arms around her to access the keys he needed. She was small of frame, and posed hardly an obstacle to his reach.

Amidst the melody that rose from the keyboard at his suddenly inspired manipulations, Daria was utterly surprised she did not hit a mistaken note on her end. In fact, she was surprised she did not drop dead of shock right there, paralyzed and tantalized by the warmth of his narrow torso behind her, and the wafting spiced scent of his skin. His cheek brushed against hers as he reached for a far note, and it was all Daria could do not to jump out of her skin. Did he realize the effect he had on her? A glance out of the corner of her eye told her no, he had no clue that his nearness utterly scrambled her nervous system. Judging by his expression, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, she determined he was lost in his own musical world.

Thirty seconds passed as though it were an eternity. Dutifully, Daria continued with the bass line, as Trent created. He was not so oblivious to Daria as she thought, practically holding her in his arms as he played. He enjoyed this. Sharing creativity with her, sharing space. He considered it something of a personal feat, holding his concentration while her soft hair brushed his cheek. Though he could tell Daria didn't wear perfume, there was something about the clean, feminine scent of her skin that appealed to him greatly.

As he felt the piece should come to a close, he gently lifted Daria's hand from the keys, finishing the clip with a few choice notes. Daria froze at the contact, her small hand engulfed by his own. Still seemingly oblivious, Trent released her, long fingers sliding over hers as he reached out to play back their music. In nearly the same position, they listened. Daria couldn't distinguish what dominated more of her attention, their musical creation, or Trent's slow steady breathing, the rise and fall of his chest behind her. The clip ended, and Daria could hear the smile in his voice, as he said, "That was cool, Daria. Maybe we should get _you_ to play bass for Spiral."

Daria turned back to look at him, a shy smile spreading over her lips. "I don't think I could fill the responsibility of fighting with Max," she confessed, inspiring a cough-ridden laugh from Trent.

"Probably not," he agreed. Smiling in understanding, their eyes met. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and though true dark had yet to fall, the room was still heavily swathed in shadows. Daria felt transfixed by those eyes, seemingly black in the darkness. _Maybe we should move now, _she thought, but could neither voice the idea nor act upon it. _At least turn on a light. _For the second time in less than a week, Trent found himself faced with the urge to kiss Daria, her body so near inspiring a warm tingle to spread through his core. What would it be like to taste those lips? Would they be as soft as they looked? He studied her carefully, gauging her possible reception, wondering if he was crazy and about to make a huge mistake.

Daria's eyes flitted from his eyes to his lips, betraying her thoughts. She pressed her lips together, pink tongue flicking out nervously to wet her lips. No longer able to stand it, Trent leaned forward slowly to brush his mouth against hers. _Oh God, _thought Daria, eyes lulled closed on reflex. _This is it. _When she did not jolt or pull away, instead tentatively kissing him back, Trent lifted a hand, cradling the side of her face gently, as though she were an object of precious value in his care. For the moment, Daria's terror faded into pure adrenaline, caught up in this alien but pleasurable sensation. He kissed her languorously, exploring her soft lips and the moist hollow beyond. As Daria felt the slightest hint of tongue slide along her bottom lip, inquisitive but not invasive, an involuntary groan escaped her throat.

At this sound, this near _squeak _of what Daria felt sure Trent would perceive as inexperience, she expected Trent to pull away. To laugh, to make light of it, to get up and walk away. However, it only seemed to spur him on, as he pulled her closer against him. Perhaps he'd half expected her to run, terrified of such contact with a man, but when she melted against him he couldn't help but deepen the kiss. This was so strange for Daria, so new. The feel of Trent's tongue teasing hers, slick and soft against her mouth. There was an unexpected strength in his wiry arms, holding her close, supporting her weight as he leaned over her. A groan tore from his throat as she reached up, tentatively running nails up the column of his neck, and into his raven black hair.

The sound of the front door downstairs slamming shut caused them both to freeze, eyes opening. "Jane's home," Daria whispered shakily, as Trent drew back with a rattling gasp for air. He studied her with intense eyes, hardly able to believe the event just past. Her heart knocked against her ribcage, and Daria felt equally certain that this must be a dream.

"Shame," confessed Trent, reluctantly standing from their comfortable and undeniably interesting position. He offered her a hand up, and surprisingly she accepted. His touch burned her, grasp lingering on her hand, reluctant to pull away. With a sigh he turned on the lights, temporarily blinding them, just as Jane decided to push open the door without knocking.

"Hanging out in the dark?" Jane asked suspiciously, an eyebrow raised. She wasn't quite sure how to interpret the detached looks both Trent and Daria paid her. If she didn't know better, she might have read them as hostility.

"We were working," said Trent. "Listen to this." Quick to distract, he clicked at the computer and cranked up the speaker, playing their creation for Jane. She bobbed her head contentedly as she listened, crimson red lips spread in a smile. "That's awesome!" she exclaimed. "That's _perfect _for illustrating the hell we know as high school. I especially like the bass line, it's so _dark._"

"That's Daria's," admitted Trent with a smile.

"Oh yeah?" Jane quirked an eyebrow, smirk turning to her friend. Was it just her, or was Daria's hair slightly tousled? Surely not. "Our little Daria, hiding the musician within behind that writer's exterior all this time."

"It's the least frightening of my inner conflicting identities."

"Unleash the one that tells you to kill and kill again next time Kevin is nearby, and we'll be set."

"Mmm." Daria seemed to muse on the possibility, and not in the least remorsefully.

"Well, let's put this all together," said Jane, sitting down at the computer with a renewed sense of purpose. "We'll have something that passes for a project in no time." She opened the video editing program, and quickly began pulling things together. "There's left over pizza downstairs, if you guys want some," she said absently, fixated on the screen.

Behind Jane's back, Daria and Trent shared a long meeting of eyes. Had they really kissed on the floor, not two feet away from where Jane sat? What now? With a warm smile, Trent shrugged at the unspoken question that hung in the air between them. Nodding towards the door, he invited Daria to accompany him downstairs for Pizza.

With every step down the stairs, Daria's level of anxiety rose higher and higher. She felt lost in a sea of inexperience. What came next? Would they just go back to normal, pretend like nothing happened? Why did he kiss her? Merely physical desire, or did Trent want something more? She realized that for all the time she'd spent musing on the fantasy that perhaps Trent could care for her, she'd never really considered the possibility realistically. It seemed far too unlikely to even entertain.

Did he want a relationship? Did he want to date her? Be her boyfriend? _Oh God_. A great uncertainty loomed over her head. _Boyfriend. Relationship. _She had complained earlier of being left alone by Jane, and yet now the thought of losing even more of her alone time to someone who was not Jane ruffled her feathers. Even if it was Trent. All the things boyfriends and girlfriends do ran through her mind. Dates. Going to the movies. Making out in random deserted parking spots on the sides of isolated country roads. Obligations to remember holidays, birthdays, anniversaries. Arguing bitterly over points of seemingly little consequence. Power struggles. Meeting the parents. Promise rings. His and hers cemetery plots...

_Calm down, Morgandorffer, _she urged herself, following Trent's lanky form through the living room towards the kitchen. _Trent's not a creep, not a meat head. He doesn't want to dominate you, or demand things of you. The kiss was probably just a whim. It probably meant nothing. _

Then she went on to experience an equal and opposite reaction: fear that Trent didn't really want her. What if it really had just been a whim of lust, unlikely as that seemed in her case? Maybe he'd liked that black dress from the weekend before, but she was back to her normal garb now. _Nothing teasing or enticing here_, she mused self deprecatingly, glancing down at her familiar green jacket and pleated skirt. _Well, the lights were off, when he'd kissed her. Maybe that helped..._

Trent and Daria mulled around the kitchen, digging out the pizza, plates, warming it in the microwave, sitting down at the table, all in silence. He could certainly sense something was bothering Daria, and he had a good guess what. Trent couldn't help but think, despite of how much they both seemed to enjoy the kiss, that perhaps he'd irresponsibly added an element of complication into their lives together. She'd liked him for a long time. He wasn't so oblivious as to miss that...so what now? Even if she thought that perhaps she wanted him as a boyfriend, he mused with something like regret, he knew that in reality, she really probably didn't. He was a little older than her. He was in a band, that dominated most of his waking hours. He was never on time, he was forgetful...and about a million other things that would probably drive her crazy, should she try a relationship with him. Especially as a first boyfriend, expectations can be unrealistically lofty. Romanticized. And eventually, disappointed. He didn't want to hurt her like that.

Daria was so cool, and so mature in most ways, that he easily forgot her true age. He certainly had at the moment he kissed her. But there was so much she had yet to learn, about relationships, and interacting with people...things time would teach. Did he really want to be the one to take that responsibility on? In a way it seemed like a bad idea, and yet, the thought of spending more time with Daria still intrigued him. So what was the right thing to do? Trent realized he had no idea.

Before he could ask Daria if she was ok, she looked up from her untouched pizza, thoughts whizzing past at hurricane speed behind her eyes. "_Why_ did you kiss me?" she blurted out, tone as excited, or perhaps exacerbated, as he'd ever heard come from Daria. He hadn't expected quite _that _reaction, and his surprise lay clearly written across his face. Before he could answer, Daria sighed, exhaling some tension. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just...what now?"

Trent chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed his bite of pizza before answering honestly. "I don't know. Um...let me ask you. What do _you_ want?"

Elbows on the table, Daria rested her face in her hands, releasing yet another long, lost, sigh. "I have no idea," she groaned.

Quietly, almost as though he were afraid of the answer, Trent asked, "Are you mad at me, for kissing you?"

Daria looked up from cradling her head in her hands to study Trent's expression. He gazed at her earnestly, trying to guess what was going through her head. Averting her gaze, she smiled shyly. "Uh...no. I liked that part...a lot."

Trent's lips curled in an unassuming smile. "Me too," he admitted. In his laid-back manner, he suggested, "Well, maybe if you have no idea what you want, and I have no idea what I want, then maybe we should keep it loose."

Raising an eyebrow, Daria asked almost suspiciously, "Loose, how?"

Patiently, Trent answered, "Loose like, I like you a lot, and I like being with you. You seem to feel the same about me. So when we feel like it, we could hang out or something."

Nodding slowly, Daria digested the suggestion. Trent could imagine the wheels of her mind turning over it, lightning fast, examining every angle. Finally, she admitted, "Yeah. I think I like that idea." This could be the beginning of something unique, and interesting. Yet, something she felt she could handle. It was funny, how awkward Daria felt when faced with the paces most ordinary people must be put through. And yet throw an odd situation her way, and she managed to feel comfortable.

Studying the musician across from her, the nerves subsiding, a tingling thrill slowly made it's way down her spine, spreading warmth as it went. Now that she was not faced with the imminent responsibility of turning her world upside down, she couldn't help but hope their next kiss would be soon. Meeting her gaze, Trent had much of the same thoughts. Coolest highschooler he knew, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was while playing his guitar in his room that Trent overheard an alarming conversation taking place out in the hall. Through his cracked door, he could hear the voices of the two Lawndale girls he was most fond. "You're ditching me _again _for Tom," complained Daria, the pain in her voice plain as day.

"I'm sorry," sighed Jane. "It's just...I really like Tom. He's fun, and new..."

"And I'm yesterday's smelly socks?"

"That's not what I mean, Daria."

Trent noticed Daria walk past his room, apparently heading for the door. Setting down his guitar, he jumped for his door in what was perhaps the fastest reaction he'd executed since middle-school gym class. Did these girls not realize what kind of disaster they were playing with? That friendships _could _be broken permanently, even one as strong as theirs, if they abused it enough? Determined to fulfill the need of an outside mediator, Trent popped his head out of the door. "Whoa, you two. _Listen_ to yourselves."

Daria stopped in her tracks at the sound of Trent's voice, and slowly turned to face he and Jane. It was the first time she'd seen him since their lock of lips on the floor of his room; even amidst the blinding feelings of anger and betrayal, the sight of him quickened her heart.

With a pointedly annoyed narrowing of eyes, Jane snapped, "Butt out, Trent."

Brother and sister glared at each other, and when Trent did not disappear back into his cave immediately, Jane crossed her arms. An eyebrow raised with a silent, "_Well?_"

"Daria, just because Jane has a new boyfriend, doesn't men she loves you any less, right?"

"Exactly!" agreed Jane, throwing up her thin arms. "Thank you!"

"And Jane," continued Trent. "Just because you have a boyfriend, doesn't mean you should neglect Daria. Can't you like, spend Friday with Daria and Saturday with Tom, or something?"

He looked between the bickering young women, and expected to be met with something of a reasonable expression of agreement. However, when he turned to Daria, he found her eyes glinting hard as flint. "This isn't a divorce settlement," she said coldly. "I'm not bargaining for allocations of her time she doesn't want to give."

Turning on her heel, Daria made to escape down the stairs again. With an alarmed expression, Jane called, "Daria, wait!"

Once again Daria froze in her tracks, but did not turn, waiting silently for what came next. "It's a really good idea," agreed Jane softly. Perhaps it was the tone of her friend's voice, or the hopes for salvation yet, but Daria slowly turned to look at her friend once again. "Of course I still want to spend time with you," said Jane. "Maybe we can have our cake, and eat it too?"

"Really?" demanded Daria. "Because if this is just a pittance, I don't want it. I don't want a lie with you, Jane. We owe each other better than that."

Jane reached out. "Really, Daria. I mean it. I want my best friend back."

Daria paid Jane a long evaluative stare, gauging the weight of her words. Did she mean it? Or was it a ditch effort to postpone an inevitable demise of their great friendship, all for a boy? Daria found she was willing to give it a try. Finally she said, "Cake it is then. Pass the forks."

Jane laughed, and Daria's released a quiet sigh of relief at the sight of that familiar crimson smirk. "I'm sorry I've been a dummy," she apologized sheepishly.

"I'm sorry too," admitted Daria. "I'm new to this...I've never really had to share you before."

With a shrug, Jane sighed, "Who knew I would someday be cool enough to have one friend _and _a boyfriend in Lawndale?"

"It's a development that's shocked us all, Lane," said Daria with a ghost of a smile.

"So...it's Friday night. Want to go for pizza or something?"

"But aren't you seeing Tom?"

"It was a loose date. He'll understand."

Daria nodded. "Alright. If you're sure."

"I'm sure," affirmed the artist, meaning every word. Who knew that pizza could have healing properties? With a smile and a sense of accomplishment, Trent slipped back into his room, closing the door quietly.


End file.
